I could just see the outline of Leander’s shrug in the darkness as the carriage swept us down country roads lit only by the beam of the skeletal horses’ glowing red eyes. “All necromancers know each other, like it or not. There simply aren’t enough of us to snub each other in peace. Who else would ever lend us a hand when we need it? Unless, that is, we’re surprisingly lucky in our neighbors.” I could hear a smile warm his voice as he leaned back in his seat. “What about you? Do you attend fantastical metal-magickers’ conventions or balls of your own to meet with your colleagues?”

“Colleagues?’” I shook my head with a snort. “Dad was the one who taught me how to use my tools. He had a few metalworking friends in different towns, but…”

“None of them could ever do what you do, could they?” Leander’s voice was soft and certain, stroking the air around me like fine gauze—or a web. “I’d never even heard of such a gift before we met. Was it your father who taught you your metal-magic, too?”

I shrugged uncomfortably, glad of the dark. “No one taught me that.” No one else had even heard of it, as far as I knew. Dad had tried to show one of his most trusted friends once, when I was younger. I still remembered the horror on that woman’s face as she’d backed away from me and my workings, which I’d taken so much pride in showing her.

“Unnatural…”

We’d been lucky that that ex-friend had only been passing through town and hadn’t stopped to warn any of our neighbors along the way. They hadn’t figured out the truth for years to come…until I got too confident. Too comfortable, just like this cushioned seat in the dark, which tricked me into feeling as if I could trade confidences all night long with the beautiful man across from me…as if the two of us had anything in common outside this carriage.

Those metal braces on Dad’s legs—and the lines of pain that marked his face—told the world exactly what had happened the last time I’d been stupid enough to trust outsiders. Unlike our old neighbors, Leander would hardly be scandalized by anything I confided, but any man who blazed his own shocking truth with such arrogance from the turrets of his looming black castle would never understand the kind of fear or shame I lived with—and I could never truly understand him, either.

It took me a moment to realize he was still speaking. “At least your father is also a metalworker.”

“He…was.” Dad hadn’t picked up a tool since the night of the fire, all those months ago.

“He seems rather young for retirement.”